Were you surrounded by aliens, only had one clip left and lived to tell the tale? Ever have one life left when you were fighting the boss and won? Were you gunned down by bandits, and through sheer determination you were able to take them down and take their loot? Well, let's hear it!

Kinda wanna have a pub feel to this place. You know, where soldiers come to have a drink and tell each other their war stories. With that said:

Guidelines:

Add Brackets - More of a suggestion for now, it makes it easier to read the stories. Here's an example:

[Game Title] "Story Title Here"

Example: [Halo] "My duel against a worthy opponent"

Everything in these stories happened to the player. Please don't say, "that didn't happen" or "you cheated!" to the OP. This is much like /r/nosleep's rule: "Everything is true here, even if it's not." Please suspend your disbelief while you're here.

HOWEVER If you see something like "I was playing CoD Zombies and I was at level 500 and the zombies were shooting me," that's obviously fake. If you see something like this, give evidence that OP is lying and let the mods know.

Be descriptive! Be creative! What's more fun to read? "I killed the guy with my gun and lived" or "My health was low and I was down to a pistol with three bullets left, so I aimed toward his head and squeezed the trigger. Somehow, I got him, and lived to tell the tale?"

If you can't see your post it probably got caught in the filter. Just send the mods a message, we'll get it fixed for ya.

For days, El Zilcho and I had been rolling through battles together, mopping up the opposition with greater and greater ease. We fought as blood brothers should. Together, yet with increasing competition as we got more creative with our kills. We traded our stories, shared in our "almost got em's", and bragged about our next goal. I had accomplished all, but one goal over the course of my campaign. Only the great equalizer remained. It was the one thing that had eluded me since my time as a lowly private. Twenty-five men would have to fall for my greatest glory. Little did I know my brother would be the deciding one.

We arrived in Brazil together, fighting through the favelas. While the enemy fell in groups, my restarting lives kept me from getting close. I scavenged from body after body, resupplying rounds, grenades, and flash bangs. I leaped from the rooftops, driving my blade into the necks of my enemies only to be cut down by three others. My specialized rounds cut through their flesh. I could smell it burn. It's a smell you never forget. Yet I was always coming up short. My ACR burned in my hands; the barrel smoldered a deep red. My eyes pulled back from the red dot sight as I surveyed the bloodied streets. We were moving on, victorious, but my glory still sat out of my reach. It would have to wait until Rundown.

I arrived in the broken town feeling tightness in my chest. My heart was pounding. My breath quickened. Yet my hands remained steady. My eyes stayed sharp. It was not nervousness, but a heightened awareness. I was a racing horse waiting in its stall. My body was building to a crescendo that only sex could rival. I checked the tactical command and looked at the team. It was a good group, but something was off. My brother was missing. I opened up our private line.

"Zilch, you still there?"

"Yeah. I guess the gods have fated us against each other."

"You know I will not let you stop me, Zilch."

"Likewise, Baron. Good hunting."

I felt betrayed, but then again such was life. I had waded through too many bodies, too much blood. My hands tightened on my ACR. Someone tried to give instructions over the line, but it faded into noise. This battle was only going to end one of two ways. Either by the fire of a thousand suns, or the broken bones of my corpse lying in a creek.

The first men fell easily. Their initial deployment would be predictable. I had fought in this town before. The second story of an aluminum building lit up with the pings of my metal jackets. I never saw the body, but the radio crackled with my kill. Two more fell on the bridge, cut down before they could even make it half way. By then my spot was compromised. The walls sparked around me as I ducked out of the way. Time to move. I got greedy and peeked out the window one more time. He saw me first, but an AK isn't as accurate as my ACR. His head exploded like a watermelon. Then the familiar ping. It fell heavier than a bullet and you only got to hear it once. Grab it or not. Well twenty-five kills would not come through waiting. I felt the grenade in my hand before I even made a decision. It flew out the window, blowing up before it struck the ground. By the time I got confirmation of two more kills, I was already at the bottom of the stairs, sprinting for the long grass. A poor fool stepped out of cover. By the time he saw me, my knife was buried in his neck without breaking stride.

Seven kills, time for a breather. The harrier came in fast and low. Unfortunately they were prepared. Three fell before two stingers blew it out of the sky. But a veteran does not call in air support without knowing that it would be shot down quickly. Of course, a stinger only gets one shot. And a Pave Low takes more than one. It's a beautiful feeling in your bones when she rolls in. The low bass of her rotors straining to carry her across the sky brings warmth to her friends…and dread to her enemies. I could have waited to carry out the attacks myself, but I would be stuck in position. Exposed. Not now. I moved under her cover. They scurried under cover. My nades and bangers drove them back out. I lost count as they racked up. But one name refused to appear. He was a ghost in the weeds. A shadow in the buildings. I knew my brother was out there. He had been carving through my men slowly, but efficiently.

I knew it was close, but I refused to look. I am not a religious man, but I do not dare encourage the wrath of fate by looking. I was moving fast across the street when I saw them. Three stood in the small market. I let out a brief burst, burying the one in the middle. I considered unloading the rest of the clip right there, but my position was exposed. Now was not the time for heroics. They unleashed a volley at my position, but I was already making for a gas station on the edge of town. I hunkered down in the grass, waiting for the inevitable flank. They both came over the hill together, though. No coordination. No chance. I knelt, leveled my ACR, and released two bursts. They fell almost simultaneously. My victory was complete.

I felt the warm glow emerge from within. Hours spent working towards this moment. I awaited the comforting sounds of a ticking clock. I looked forward to the warmth of a nuclear blanket. The world went quiet. The gunfire, bombs, and humming of a UAV fell away. I saw the blip flash once. I heard the three thumps before I felt them. They talk about the muffled sound when the bullet hits, but they fail to mention the low sucking noise that follows as the chest consumes the air around the hole. I turned as I fell, seeing a familiar face in an unfamiliar uniform. "El Zlicho" emblazoned across the jacket. I opened my mouth to scream, but my words fell silent. I looked at the sky as it remained its cloudy color. The battle would end. We would be victorious. My KDR…24-1. We continued fighting for and against each other, but I have never made the trek up that mountain again.